Warrior Woman

I watch her step out of the door—daughter.

Want her to grow up fearless and strong, a

warrior woman, unafraid of the dark

which cloaks us but is not oblivious

to the need for hairspray concealed in a

bag, in place of the Mace not legal here.

The colour of bruises—sunset. Hot dread

pours lead down my spine. Is this the last time

I see her hearty and whole … full of love

and life? Bibaa Henry, Nicole Smallman,

Sarah Everard, Sabina Nessa,

Zara Aleena, Julia James—names, all,

of the dead. Murdered for daring to walk

alone. Night or day, or with a pet dog,

long trek home, or short stroll to the local

pub—not safe! Not for the female of the

species, whose rights have just disappeared in

one fell swoop of the judges’ gavel. We

have no place in this great human race for

power, prestige, and control. No choice or

say over our own bodies—raped, abused,

used, and left to rue the consequences

not necessarily of our making.

Handmaid’s tale coming to a town near you.

Shit’s gettin’ real. To take their lives not

enough. Muzzled and leashed, taken to task

for daring to live free of hipocry-

sy. They can keep their guns and useless laws.

Might is not right, and we won’t go down with-

out a fight. The suffragettes knew a thing

or two. Could they have ever believed the

world of today? Of the madness that now

holds sway? Next to suffer the crushing heel

of out-of-touch rules and decrees are the

minorities. This bleeding artery

pumps the blood of all mortal souls into

the cold soil of opened graves, whose ghosts are

freed to roam the haunted halls of mistakes

and misconceptions.